Chapter 27 Olivia
OLIVIA
When we arrive at their home, Alec’s surprise melts instantly into joy.
He abandons the mess of blueprints spread across his desk without a second thought, crossing the room to gather Bas into his arms. The sight of the two of them—love imprinted in every line and gesture—hits me straight in the chest.
I hover, feeling like an intruder on something sacred.
“I’ll just freshen up.” I head toward the washroom to give them space.
On my way, I glance back and catch Alec’s face over Bas’s shoulder, eyes closed, lips pressed to his husband’s temple, grief and devotion warring behind his expression. It’s heartbreaking. He’s already mourning, even while the man he loves is still here.
Once done and still eager to give them time alone, I drift by them into the kitchen.
From the living room, Bas’s voice rings out, booming with mock impatience. “Ma chérie, come here.”
I laugh softly and take my time in the kitchen, fussing with glasses and ice, pretending I’m busy so they can have another minute together. But Alec’s head soon pops around the doorway, eyes warm with amusement.
“Olivia, come.” Alec holds out a hand for me and, with the other, picks up one of the drinks I just poured. “His Majesty grows restless. And you know, what he wants, he gets.” He winks, leading me back to the living room.
Bas lounges on the couch, one hand dramatically pressed to his heart. “Our boy was being an idiot tonight. Instead of leaving with his love, he stayed to listen to that blowhard, Daniel Thibault.”
Alec chuckles, shaking his head. “Bas, ease up. You know you can’t stand Thibault, but Sam’s got a lot riding on this restaurant. He’s doing what he thinks he has to.”
“Bah.” Bas waves him off. “There’s always a choice. He just hasn’t learned yet that love is the only one that matters.”
His words hang in the air, soft and heavy, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s speaking to Alec, to Sam, or to both of us.
At their insistence, I sit between them, cocooned by their presence, my head turning from one to the other as they trade stories about Sam. It’s effortless, the way their love for him fills the room—teasing and fond, every word stitched with pride.
Listening to them feels like flipping through the pages of his life, the boy who became the man I love. I treasure every detail they share. And more than that, I’m grateful to be here, to be welcomed so fully into their world. To be cherished.
“Ah, ma chérie,” Bas says suddenly, breaking the rhythm of their banter. His voice is softer now, almost reverent. “You’re the one.”
I stare, startled. “Pardon?”
He smiles faintly but doesn’t answer me, at least not directly. “I’m glad I met you before it was too late.”
A quiet stillness settles around us. The meaning behind his words presses heavy in my chest.
Alec shifts beside me, his discomfort tangible. Bas releases a small tsk, the sound equal parts annoyance and fear, a man unwilling to acknowledge how finite time has become.
I lean forward. “Bas…”
His hand flicks in the air as if brushing off the question, his eyes dimmed with something deeper. “Samson has a big heart. So much love to give, even after what this world has thrown at him. Even knowing how he came into it—born of something dark and soul-shattering—is not an easy truth to carry.”
A lump forms in my throat, thick and painful. My pulse stutters. “What are you saying?”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze clear and kind. “Did Samson ever tell you about his mother?”
I nod slowly, recalling the small fragments Sam has shared. “Only that she died just before his second birthday.”
“Mm.” Bas nods again, his expression grave. “Normally, I wouldn’t say anything…it’s his story, not mine, but I’m a dying man.” His mouth quirks into a wry smile, but the sadness in his eyes betrays the gesture. “And I don’t want that boy wasting what time he has left in fear of the truth.”
“Bas.” Alec’s voice is razor-sharp and loaded with warning. “Would you stop it already?”
He leans forward, the strain clear in his expression, and I reach for his hand instinctively, a quiet squeeze of understanding. I get it. He’s angry because he’s scared, because every time Bas talks about dying, it chips off another piece of his heart.
But I also understand Bas. This isn’t cruelty. It’s urgency.
And something tells me what he’s about to say will change everything I thought I knew about Sam.
“I will not sugarcoat this, Alec.” When he looks at me again, there’s a somberness in his gaze, a quiet gravity that warns me his next words will leave a mark. “Ma chérie, Samson’s mother was a teenager, barely fifteen, when she was raped.”
My stomach plummets to my toes, bile burning its way up my throat as the corners of my eyes prick. I can barely wrap my head around something so horrific.
“The gory details don’t matter. It was life-altering.
The man was never caught, and most importantly, Annick Beaulieu was never the same.
When she found out she was pregnant, she refused an abortion.
She wanted the baby, and Samson was born.
She came from a good family, but they had limited resources.
She didn’t have access to things that perhaps could’ve helped her…
like therapy. A week before Samson’s second birthday, she committed suicide. ”
“Oh my God.” The words tumble out in a gasp as I clutch my chest, fighting the swell of tears burning behind my eyes.
The room blurs for a moment until their arms slide around me—Bas’s frail but steady, Alec’s strong and sure—holding me as if I’m the one who needs comforting.
“How do you know all this?” My voice comes out thick and unsteady, my mind reeling.
The story feels too big, too cruel to fit inside the image I have of Sam. He’s light. Joy. Kindness. The man who makes everyone around him feel loved, cherished, seen.
To imagine such goodness came from something so dark, it twists something deep in me. I can’t reconcile it. And I can’t help but wonder how Bas came to know so much, when both Sam’s mother and grandmother were gone long before he entered Sam’s life.
Bas sighs softly, eyes drifting somewhere far away. “I didn’t know Samson’s grandparents, but I knew a family friend, she was very close to his grand-mère. After he came into our lives, I wanted to understand where he came from. I needed to. So I asked questions. Listened.”
His hand trembles slightly as he reaches for his glass, but he doesn’t drink, just holds it, lost in memory. “His mother also left him a letter. A beautiful letter.” The tenderness in his voice makes my throat tighten.
“I never knew Annick. But I wish I had. You could feel her love in every word she wrote to him. She was young and broken by what had happened to her, but she didn’t blame him, not for one second.
He was her light in all that darkness. Her boy.
” His voice falters, then steadies again.
“She only wanted him to have a life untouched by her pain. To be free of it.”
He pauses, eyes distant, a faint smile tugging at his lips as though picturing her letter in his mind. “That letter made all the difference to Samson. It gave him something she couldn’t give him in life—peace.”
Alec nods quietly, eyes glistening.
Bas turns his gaze to me, his expression soft and full of meaning.
“He was lucky too. His grandparents were good people. Kind. They raised him with openness and grace, and that shaped him. But it was Samson, his heart, his strength, that carried him through. Even when life knocked him down harder than most could ever endure, he rose. Always does.”
My throat tightens again, a sob clawing for release. I picture Sam, his easy smile, the gentleness in his touch, the way he listens when I speak like every word matters. And now, I understand the quiet strength beneath it, the resilience that’s been there all along.
I swallow hard, whispering mostly to myself, “He really is extraordinary.”
Bas smiles faintly. “Oui, ma chérie. He is.”
Tears spill freely down my cheeks; I don’t bother to stop them.
I can hardly fathom what Sam’s mother must have endured—how much pain she must have carried inside her fragile heart.
My chest aches for her, for her parents, and most of all, for Sam.
To grow up without a mother, and later learn why she left—how unbearable that must have been.
And his grandparents… To lose their only child that way, to shoulder that kind of grief while raising her son—it must have been agony.
And then it hits me.
The tattoos.
The Little Prince quote. The snake. It all makes sense now.
He literally wears his history.
Not as a wound, but as a map.
A guide.
A reminder of where he came from, and of everything he’s chosen to rise above.
The quote, “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly,” wasn’t about loss at all. It was about love. His mother’s love.
She saw him not through the lens of what had been done to her, but through her heart. Where others might have seen only pain, she saw her son, the one pure thing born of something broken. She loved him in spite of the darkness, maybe even because of it.
When I turn back to face Bas, emotion tightens my throat. He reaches out, cupping my face in both hands, his rough thumbs brushing away the tears that keep falling. His blue eyes glimmer with the same gentleness I’ve come to know so well.
“Ma chérie, I didn’t tell you this to make you cry.”
Behind me, Alec’s hand rubs slow circles across my back, grounding me. “Are you sure?” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice. “I think he wanted you to know because Sam may never say it himself.”
“True,” Bas admits with a low rumble of a laugh.
Then his tone softens, heavy with affection.
“But I also told you because I want you to understand what makes Samson so rare. So extraordinary. It takes a special kind of man to come from that kind of beginning and still choose love. He carries no anger, no bitterness—though if anyone had the right to, it’s him. ”
He pauses, his gaze deep and certain. “Take care of him, ma chérie. Be there for him. That’s all he’ll ever need. He may not have said the words yet, but he loves you with all that he is.”
My breath catches, the room tilting just slightly around me. His words land like something both beautiful and terrifying, a truth I feel in every heartbeat.
Bas smiles faintly, a glint of mischief still alive behind the gravity in his eyes. “And you love him too.” It isn’t a question. It’s a knowing.
All I can do is nod. Because he’s right.
I do.
More than I ever meant to.
Bas’s eyes linger on mine a moment longer, as if to make sure I’ve understood—not just his words, but the weight behind them. Then his shoulders sag, the spark dimming with fatigue. Alec notices it too. Without needing to speak, he reaches for Bas’s arm, guiding him gently to his feet.
“Come on, mon amour.” Alec’s voice is threaded with affection. “Time for bed.”
Bas grumbles in protest, though his body betrays him as he leans into Alec’s steadying hand. “I’m not tired.”
I smile through the tightness in my chest. “Of course you’re not, but humor him anyway.”
He chuckles, a sound rasped thin by exhaustion. “Bossy woman.” His eyes shimmer as he lets Alec steer him down the hall. At the doorway, he glances back, his expression tender. “Remember what I said, ma chérie.”
Then he’s gone.
The house settles into silence, the kind that quietly echoes of love and loss. I stand for a moment, staring after them, my heart heavy and full all at once.
I wander into the kitchen and pour a glass of water, my hands trembling slightly. The weight of what I’ve just learned presses against my chest, tender and sharp. I think of Sam—his laughter, his strength, his quiet empathy—and now, all the things beneath it. The scars invisible to everyone else.
He’s survived more than anyone should have to, and somehow, he’s still open. Still kind. Still capable of love.
And he loves me.
The thought both humbles and terrifies me. Because loving Sam feels like standing on the edge of something vast and untamed. He’s the kind of man you fall for once, and if you lose him, you never really recover.
I press a hand to my heart and whisper to the empty room, “I’ll take care of him, Bas. I promise.”
Through the quiet, I swear I can almost hear Bas’s gravelly voice again, gentle and sure.
That’s all he needs, ma chérie.
And I know, without question, he’s right.